


A cordial conversation

by courgette96



Series: Promotion of pawn [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Death, Gen, Loki Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, mascara alert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2703470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courgette96/pseuds/courgette96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's mostly one-sided, but fortunately she doesn't seem to mind too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A cordial conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Thor. Thor is the property of Marvel, and is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

 It’s…grey.

 It’s all he can think to say this place.  A limited description, clumsy. It upsets him. He feels as if he should be able to say more, be more eloquent. (Why does he think that? He doesn’t know, can’t remember, but he feels vulnerable without his words.)

 Still, “grey” is the only thing he sees around him. He cannot discern any floor, despite feeling solid ground beneath his feet. There is no building, no vegetation, nothing around him except the occasional swirl of mist – a lighter shade of grey. When he reaches out to touch it, he feels nothing. No warmth, no cold, no texture. If he wasn’t looking at his hand, he wouldn’t believe anything to be in contact with it at all.

 It is a strange place, and he finds he does not like it. He doesn’t know how he came here, only that he doesn’t want to stay. He doesn’t move however: he can find no place to go, no road nor sign. He doesn’t dare wander off, for he if does he may never be able to go back. (Back to where? He should know, why doesn’t he know? Why doesn’t he remember?)

 And so he stays standing, pondering his option for hours. Or is it days? Minutes? He doesn’t know (he knows nothing, it seems, and it feels wrong somehow).  He hasn’t reached any form of decision when he hears a voice from behind him.

 “Are you just going to keep standing around?”

 He turns around, and…

 

 

 _…everything is black, black, black. He_ _can’t see, can’t open his eyes, can’t move and Norns help him he is trapped, blocked, it hurts, help please someone!_

_“Get him on the bed!” a voice yells, and yes, yes, he likes that. It cuts through the black. Keep talking please, don’t leave him alone, he hates being alone, and he was always alone, even when they were around him he was alone, and she was sitting in front of him, with her eyes ohgodhereyes!_

_“Careful! Do you want to empty him of his blood, you fool? Get out, go!” He remembers blood, lots of it, and small drops. Blood brings glory, honor and tales of bravery, but he was scared, so scared. Not brave, never brave, not him._

_“Please my prince, fight a little longer.” Oh, is there a prince here? He can’t see any (the black is suffocating, all encompassing, make it stop, pleasemakeitstop!) He wants to ask, can’t because his chest is crushing him, and he tries to hang onto the voice, but it’s hard. Everything is fading away, into that black, black, everything is…_

…grey, and there is a woman standing in front of him. Her face is obscured by a hood, he can barely make out a mouth as she continues. “Don’t you want a chair?”

 He hesitates a moment, feeling incredibly out of balance. The woman in front of him just stares at him. (He thinks she is; he can’t know for sure, can’t quite see her eyes, and he is oddly grateful for that).

 Eventually, he says “I am not tired.”

 “Well no, of course you’re not.” she replies. “It’s impossible for you to be tired here, but that’s not the point. It’s rude to stand in entrances, but no one ever said anything about sitting. So, you should sit.”

 He blinks. “Entrances… what?”

 She sighs. “You seem awfully slow, and here I was led to believe you were clever.” She shakes her head. “It can’t be helped, I guess. You are neither here nor there. Well, actually, you are mostly here, but still a little bit over there.” She huffs.” Leaving right when I start talking to you – rude. But again, you can’t help it really.”

 “…Pardon?”

 She speaks very slowly, like explaining something to a child. He would bristle, but he feels very much like one here. “This is an entrance to my place, which could also be your place if you decide. You seem averse to sitting down, so maybe you wish to go on?”

 He recoils at that. “I don’t want to go.” He doesn’t quite understand what she is saying, but it feels true.

 She nods sympathetically. “People seldom do, but most go on anyway. Some linger here for a bit, but usually it’s not very long” She tilts her head to the side. “Although I did have this blond young man here for almost seventy years not too long ago. A pretty boy, but dull – slept the whole time through, didn’t even know I was there. You won’t be boring, will you?”

 He swallows. “I’ll try not to.”

 She claps her hand. “Good, then chairs! Do you have any color preference? Since you are my guest, I figure...”

 

 

  _It’s black, it hurts, but he can breathe more easily now. Still, he can’t move, can’t see, and so it’s a relief to hear voices reach him again._

_“Please, your Majesty, it may very well impair his healing, he is still on the brink of death!” a woman says._

_“Is there any other way? I will not subject him to this, not after everything.” A man’s voice this time, gruff and thick. He likes that voice._

_“Any strain on his body, no matter how slight, may be fatal to him at this stage. Your son needs this, my Lord”_

_There is a pause, the man apparently thinking about his son who needs something. He hopes he gets it, but the man sounds reasonable so he isn’t too worried._

_Eventually, the man speaks up. “I assume you know that anything that transpires in this room is not to be spoken about to anyone but the royal family.” The voice grows closer. “Loki, my son, I apologize.”_

  _Oh, so this son is Loki? A nice name, he thinks, that man certainly has good taste._

_But his train of thought stops suddenly because there is blue filling his vision (blue, not black, wonderful, brilliant blue!). He wants to cry out in joy, but can’t even manage a whimper._

_He relief is short lived, as the black comes back (no, no, no, why oh why?) and he feels hot, uncomfortably so. He doesn’t like this, doesn’t like it at all, but he can’t protest, can’t say anything, he…_

 …is sitting on a comfortable blue chair. The woman in front of him clacks her tongue disapprovingly. “I was going to let you choose, but you left again so I settled for blue. Do you like it?”

 He needs time to regain his composure before answering. “Yes, I like blue. It is my favorite color.” Huh. There’s a new piece of information. It’s nice to learn something about himself.

  She raises her eyebrows. “Really? Then what’s with all the green?”

 “What green?” He blurts out. He looks down at himself to see that he is indeed wearing a largely green ensemble. Is this a common occurrence?

 She sighs. “Right, right, neither here nor there. You’ll forgive if I forget from time to time, I have never experienced that. Mainly because I am always everywhere.”

 He frowns at that. “Who are you, exactly?” he bites out.

 “Don’t be rude, boy, it’s unbecoming.” She replies.

 “I would think the rude one would be the host that fails to introduce herself.”  , he replies without thinking.

 He is shocked at his own daring. (This is not someone to be trifled with, like that other woman ~~-not-woman~~ , and no no he is not thinking about that, _nononono_ …)

 She looks at him, impressed. “There may be hope for you yet.” She shrugs. “Still, you know who I am. It’s why you don’t want to go. You don’t like me very much.”

 He cannot deny that last statement. It’s odd; she has been nothing but welcoming, if a little strange. Where does this dislike come from?

 “I can’t blame you, really. Most people don’t. At least you were pretty graceful coming here. It’s surprising though. I would have thought you would be delighted to meet me as you did, all heaps of glory and realm-saving. All the others in your entourage would have been. Nature versus nurture, I guess?” She shakes her head, as if to remove herself from that train of thought. “Anyway, if it’s any consolation, it’s quite an exit. There will be songs. The bards will struggle however. They don’t usually do board games.”

  As usual, he is having a hard time following. “Songs? What songs?”

 “Well, you know- songs! During feasts, memorials, bedtime stories. All about your brave and honorable sacrifice!”

 “I’m not honorable.” He blurts out, and it feels so true it’s painful.

 She stares at him in reply “Who told you that?” she asks patiently.

 He doesn’t know, as usual. But it’s true, it has to be true. The knowledge is so deeply ingrained within him that he cannot consider it being anything but the truth. He looks at her, bewildered.

 With a slightly exasperated face, she opens her mouth, and…

 

 

 “ _I am sorry, my King, but I have done all that is within my power. There is nothing we can do now but wait, and hope.” The woman’s voice is gentle and soothing. He wishes she were talking to him. (But he is no king, could never be a king, always behind, in the shadows and “know your place, brother!”)_

_“I understand. Thank you, Eir.” The same man again. His voice is sad, and for some reason it feels wrong. (But he also feels so happy because it means someone cares and he craves that, needs this so much.)_

_“If you wish, I can leave you alone with him?”_

_“…Yes please.”_

_“I serve my King,” the lady replies. “I shall be in the other room in case I am needed”._

_He hears footstep then, and feels a hand upon his forehead. It feels nice. Everything about this situation feels better. The darkness isn’t quite so crushing, his chest doesn’t hurt as much and something cold is pressed to him, bringing much comfort._

_“It was a good game, my son.” He doesn’t understand, what game? It doesn’t matter, because he can’t speak. The man goes on. “So relentless in you attacks, just like when you were a boy. Look where that got you. We should play sometime, I believe I still have some things to teach you.” A pause. “Once you are awake, I will organize a schedule for us.”_

_He hears the man’s voice falter, a muffled sob. “Eir is fine healer, and so I chose not to scold her for her foolishness. You are my son, of the line of Odin. Of course you will wake up. I understand you need to rest, it has been a long day, hasn’t it?” The tone grows frantic. “But do not take too long, for your skills may get rusty. And that wouldn’t do, would it? There is much to be done, though, so do get your rest before then.” This time, the sob comes out loud and clear._

_“There is still so much to be done… So much we need to do.” The man is crying (that’s wrong, he never cries, never should cry, why cry over him?) “We will do them all when you wake up, my son, I promise you. When you wake up…”_

_His brow is wet now, water running down the side of his head. It’s uncomfortable. He tries to jerk his annoyance, but it won’t budge. Getting more and more irritated, he doubles his efforts._

 He jerks so powerfully in his chair he almost falls over. Embarrassed, he looks down at his lap as he settles back into his chair. When he looks up, he stops breathing.

 The woman is still sitting in front of him, reclining in her chair. Between them, on a black wood table, stands a chessboard.

 He eyes start watering, his body is trembling. He’s seen this before. The woman leans forward (ready to take his pawn, take his queen, his heart. Take everything and give nothing back.) He heart is beating very quickly (like then, it wouldn’t stop no matter how much it hurt, and he heard it, felt it until it was stopping and he could do nothing, nothing at all.) He is bent over now, leaning against the thrice damned chessboard as his body fails him (it did then, it does now and not again, no, no, he can’t do it again, he is so scared and alone!)

 The woman shifts again, and her hood almost falls off. (No, it has to stay on, he can’t afford to see her face, awful, awful, go away, ~~leave me alone~~ , take me instead).

  “Well, you certainly lost it.” (Wrong, he won, he won, ha. See, see? He won, it doesn’t matter what happens next. ~~He doesn’t matter~~.)

 “Well, I hope you’ll calm down soon enough. Take all the time you need, I’m not going anywhere.” She sounds bored. “Come on, in and out, you can manage”

 He tries, how hard he tries. Not for her, but for himself. He can’t be vulnerable, not like this, not now. Eventually, he manages to calm himself enough to ground out. “Why?”

 “You’re going to have to be more specific, dear.”

 “Why… the table? Why…?” He gasps.

 She leans back once again. “I wanted to see what would happen. Guess I know, now.” She purses her lips. “You’re going to have to get over it eventually, you know. Can’t go around being scared of chessboards. That is, if you ever get out of here. Otherwise, do what you want. I could arrange for a chessboard-free zone if you want.” She seems disappointed at his lack of response. “No, really, I could. My domain, my rules.”

 He is still trembling, but has mostly managed to get himself back under control. Breathing deeply, he asks, “Why am I here? What… what do you want with me?”

 “You’re here because you messed with the wrong person – well, not really a person, but close enough.” As for what I want…” She shrugs. “Well, nothing, really. You can’t actually do anything for me.”

 “You’re not important.”

 He stares at her, before nodding. Yes, he knows that. He has been told before. (Not told, but shown, and it’s the same thing, everyone knew it.) He can’t even cry over it, he only feels numb acceptance.

 This doesn’t seem to please her. “Oh, the issues with you! No one is important, not to me. They can’t get me anything I won’t claim eventually, can’t do anything for me. Not you, not anyone. No one ever will matter to me.” She stares straight at him. “I am not old, my dear, I am beyond that. I existed before time itself and I will be all that is left when the last star withers away into dust and there is no future to speak of. I am the inevitable end, and I feel no pity for what must be. I feel no sympathy, no regret, no mourning. I am too big, too all-encompassing for that.”

 “Leave your self-pity for latter. It has no place here.”

 His throat feels much too tight, but from what emotion he can’t tell. “I’m sorry.”

 “Good.” She waves her hand, and the chessboard disappears. “Better?”

 He nods.

 “Alright, then, let’s get talking.” She straightens herself. “What do you plan on doing, if you ever get out of here?”

 “I don’t know.” He whispers. “I can’t remember, but…” he breathes. “I don’t think I had anything planned. I didn’t know… I thought I wouldn’t get to leave.”

 “It’s still not a given, but it’s possible.” She tilts her head. “Anyway, now that you have time to think about it, what would the second Prince of Asgard do with his time?”

 Oh, is that who he is? Good to know, might come in handy in the future.

 He ponders her question, then replies. “Whatever he must.”

 “Oh? Why not what he pleases?”

 “Because he is a prince, he simply cannot. His life is not his own.”

 “Really?” She hums thoughtfully. “But to whom does his life belong? To the common folk he has only seen from afar? To the nobles of his court? To the king, high up on his throne?”

 He shifts uncomfortably. “To his country, to Asgard.”

 “Huh.” She leans back. “That all sounds so… theoretical. “How to be a prince for dummies.” Do you really believe that? Do you belong to Asgard?”

 “I don’t belong.” He replies almost immediately. It’s funny, how he speaks of things he does not remember. “Well, not entirely. Not as much as I wanted to. So sometimes…often, I forwent duty in order to get what I wanted.”

 “And what did you want?” she asks.

 “To be seen.” He whispers. “For everyone to look, for everyone to know… to see what I could do.”

 She hums. “Well, you got what you asked for.”

 But it wasn’t supposed to be that way, he thinks.

 

 

  _“You are keeping us waiting, my son.” The woman’s voice is different from the one before. He likes it better. “It has been a week.”_

_Has it? He hadn’t noticed, he would have said an hour at the very most._

_“I am sorry we have left you alone for a while.” She continues. “We heard of the court going into mourning. One of the main priests was already organizing your funeral. Your Father was so furious upon learning this. He went out to go find him.” She sighs. “I fear for the poor man’s life. The king may very well destroy any one who refers to you as anything but alive and well.”_

_A kiss upon his brow. “Thor would come but we…” He can hear her swallow. “We told him not to. Not when you are… in this state.” She starts crying. People seem to do that around him, these days. “We thought….He shouldn’t know, not before you agree to it. You should be the one to tell him…We should have told you…”_

_She is clinging to him. “So many things we should have done differently. When I hear what the court is saying… of what has been said… I have failed you, my son. How could I not see it all? Did you really need to be laying on the floor as you were for me to finally realize?”_

_She lets go of him. He wants to whimper at the lost. “You are my son, you cannot leave this plane before me. You are much too important for that.”_

_“We love you so. Please wake up. For all of us”_

 He feels like crying. Out of happiness, maybe. Or longing. He’s not sure.

 The woman in front of him in resting her head on her hand. “These are becoming more and more frequent. I think you might just leave my grasp for good. You really are defying all odds, you know?”

 He closes his eyes, throat too tight to speak.

 “I guess it’s her fault, really. Such a convoluted way of killing you. Still, you don’t live as long as she has without picking up some hobbies. Guess she got a little obsessive.”

 “Do you?” he whispers. “Have any hobbies.”

 She tilts her head. “Well, right now, you’re my hobby.  Don’t worry about it, I’ll find a new one when you leave this place, wherever you go.”

 “Anyway, what’s got you in such a state?” she asks.

 He takes some time before answering. “I am important…” he mumbles.

 “Pardon?”

 “That woman, she said I was important.”

 “Well of course she did. She loves you very much.”

 “But I…I’m not sure I believe her… I want to, but I….” he sobs.

 She sighs. “You are scared of disappointment. Both from you and because of you. It’s not healthy you know. Word of advice, hope a little!”

 “But hope hurts!” he cries out. “It hurts because it’s never justified. Hurt always comes, nothing changes, and hope can do nothing about it!”

 “That’s the thing about life,” she says simply. “It usually hurts.”

 “Then why can’t I make it stop!” he yells.

 A pause.

 “You could.”

 He looks at her through tear filled eyes.

 “Make it stop.” She continues. “Just don’t go back. Give it up, and you won’t hurt again. I can promise you that. The past has no place in my domain.” She stares him down. “If that’s what you want.”

 He looks at her some more, before getting up. He paces and runs his hand through his hair. “I was done. It was over, and I was fine with that – I had accepted that!”

 “They obviously didn’t.”

 “But it was all alright! They were fine, the realm was fine, everything was fine!”

 “You obviously weren’t. Still aren’t.”

 “I don’t count!” he bursts out.

 He slumps to the ground, crying. “I… don’t. Not as much. I…I am the shadow.” He looks up at her. “When I left, it… it was glorious, wasn’t it?”

 She nods. “A hero’s sacrifice.”

 He laughs brokenly. “Then it’s as you say… quite an exit. Why… why ruin it? It is more than I could have ever hopped for… You said there would be songs.”

 “Hundreds of them.”

 “People…they will remember.”

 “And they will praise.”

 He swallows. “They’ll love me…”

 “Forever.” She stands up to walk in front of him.

 “Then… then it is enough, no? Best to leave with my head held high, don’t you agree?” he says, smiling a sad smile.

 “I don’t have an opinion about those things. I only come when I will come.”

 Her lack of answer is disappointing, but he hadn’t expected anything else. “If I go back, they’ll hurt me…”

 “Probably.”

 He swallows. “I’ll hurt them,” he whispers. “I wanted to… I couldn’t in the end, but I had planned to.”

 “You will hurt each other. It’s the privilege of the living.”

 He lets his head fall back. “I know all this, so why… why can’t I stop?” He starts crying again. “I can’t bring myself to just…just stop.”

 She pats his shoulder. “You don’t have to choose now, but the time is coming soon. You can only hold out for so long before I end up claiming you.”

 “Do I have to be the one…?” he asks brokenly.

 She smiles. “That’s the thing about choices. No one can truly make them for you. It’s why consequences are hated so much.”

 

 

   _“I am sorry I left you alone, Loki” the man says. “Your mother gave me quite a scolding when I came back. I suppose I deserved it.”_

_His hand is petting his head, the continuous motion soothing._

_“That man as talking as if you were dead already… I could not bear it. You cannot leave, my son, it is too soon.”_

_The man is crying again, he can feel tears dampening his hair. “When I saw you in front of that creature… You were so close to me, but it felt as if I could never reach you… so far away from my protective grasp. How long have you been leaving, Loki? You could have tried so many different strategies, why choose the one that would put your life at risk? Was there truly no other way, or was it… Norns, was it purposeful?”_

_“I need you to come back to me. I need to know you did not…choose death over life. I need you home, my son.”_

_“Do not go where I can’t follow. You’re loss would break my heart.” A kiss on his forehead, and then the petting resumes. “Please, Loki, my son. Please come back.”_

  His breathing slows. His closes his eyes, lets his head fall back.

 “Have you chosen, then?”

 He nods. “Hope hurts. It brings me nothing.”

 He opens his eyes. She is smiling.

 “He gave you more than hope right now, though, didn’t he?” she says.

 “He said… I had never heard him say it before, not like this…”

 “And that’s enough? More than what your mother said?” There is no accusation in her tone.

 He smiles sadly. “Does that make me an ungrateful son? It’s… She has said such things many times before… I believed she believed it… It should have been enough.”

 “But?”

 “I… I deal in lies all the time. I have saved lives and doomed others with the sharpest of deception… I know their power. I could not bear going back for one.”

 “And you don’t think the All-Father ever lies?” she asks curiously.

 He hesitates for a moment before answering. “Not for this.”

 “Huh.” She claps her hands once. “Well, I think you should hold on to that thought. You were going on about pain, and trust me – you’re on for a doozy.” She turns around. “Well, this was fun. Until next time!”  She starts to walk away.

 “Wait!” he calls after her. She turns around. He isn’t sure what he was going to say. “That’s it?”

 She chuckles. “Were you expecting a parade? You’re such an Aesir.”

 The black starts invading the grey until he can’t see anything anymore.

 

 

 The rooms feels hot. Whatever cold thing was keeping him cool had melted, leaving an uncomfortable wet stain around him.

 He tries to moans in discomfort, and is pleased to hear his voice respond to his command. Next to him, someone shifts.

 “Loki?” His mother calls out, hope dripping from her tone.

 He would hate to disappoint her, so he tries to answer. A grunt is all he manages.

 “Oh Loki, it’s alright, everything is fine.” He struggles to open his eyes. “Come on my son, you can do it, I know you can.”

 He manages to crack his eyes open, and is startled by how bright everything is. He hisses in discomfort.

 “Hush, my love, hush.” She is smiling, cupping his cheek. “Welcome back.” She turns around. “Eir! Come quickly, he is awake!”

 She resumes to pet and hush him, but he pays her little mind. He feels hot, much too hot, and everything is so bright! He looks down in order to kick the sheets off him, and freezes.

 His hands…

 His breath stops as he contemplates his arms. They are wrong, so wrong, they are…

 Blue. A deep, dark blue.

 Shacking, he lifts them up, and sees three parallel scars running down his arm, through eyes that are not meant to see in such bright daylight.

 “My son…” he distantly hears his Mother say.

 He lifts his head, and in a mirror on the wall he sees two red eyes staring straight at him.

 He screams.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, got this one out before my exams. Hooray!
> 
> I had originally thought of having Loki actually die, but this is what happened instead. It looks like I am fine with making him suffer, but killing him off is a no-no.
> 
> Anyway, this will probably be a series of one-shots, or very small stories. No idea how long it's going to be, we shall see!


End file.
